Kingdom of Fear: The Cat and the Scarecrow
by GothamDark90
Summary: The boy wanted the cat to stay at the hospital with him. She made the scarecrows go away. But she never stayed, did she? And the scarecrows kept coming back.
1. The Cat and the Scarecrow

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Summary: The boy wanted the cat to stay at the hospital with him. She made the scarecrows go away. But she never stayed, did she? And the scarecrows kept coming back.

**Kingdom of Fear: The Cat and the Scarecrow.**

The boy writhed and thrashed against the restraints against the ashen sheet wreathed hospital bed. He let out moans of distress, head lolling back and forth. "Please," He deplored as his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the sight of that straw carved baleful face with three glowing crimson holes for eyes and mouth staring down at him, towering over his bedside.

The ghastly mass of pallid yellow-tan straw stitched together lumbered forward, floating on air, slithering through it towards his squirming form. He hated them. Oh, how he hated them. They made him scream, they terrorized him, they stared and did nothing as they tormented him. But more than anyone else, he hated _him_, the man that had done this to him. His father.

His eyes shifted past the abominable beast of pure horror that only he could see and looked out at the entrance to his room. She wasn't here. Dammit, she wasn't here. Where was his cat?

The cat…..the orderlies and nurses thought that the cat was just another figment of his imagination, like the scarecrows were, but John knew better. The cat was not part of his imagination. The poisonous excrement that his father had injected him with was supposed to create a constant sense and hallucinations of _fear,_ not relief, not of safety, and certainly not of desire or love.

The cat was not part of his hallucinations. She was _real_. Dear god she was real. She was the most real thing in this building, in this world, and he _wanted _her. But where was she?

Sometimes she came by, scavenging food from other patients. She claimed she brought them to her friend _"Ivy."_ John didn't care who she took the food for. He just wanted her to stay. She was never able to stay though. She would stay by his side every now and then, those intense sparkling eyes like a predator's watching him, a glimmer of sympathy for the deranged young man in the bed showing every now and then, but only for a moment.

He first saw her at least two weeks after he had first been imprisoned here. She had snuck in with a packaged sandwich under her arm, hiding behind corridors and gurneys so that the staff didn't see her.

He never knew her name. She only went by Cat. Finally, after so long, John smiled, letting out a laugh that to anyone else would probably sound like an inhuman cackle. Yes, "Cat" was so fitting of her, wasn't it? Calculating, wild, beautiful, dangerous, agile, sneaky, pragmatic. It fit her perfectly. He recalled her once near his bedside only three or four days ago, telling him calmly that the scarecrows weren't really there and he was stronger than the scarecrows. He wanted to believe that. She had pushed her grey hood, crowned with a pair of black goggles off her head, showing her wild, curly bright copper hair shining in the light as she observed him carefully.

God, he missed her. It was a week before that last meeting when John realized why she wasn't visiting him as frequently. He saw her outside of the room once, talking to someone else. A boy. A small pale boy with short well-kept black hair. It was then that joining the terror and agony, had been the fiery burn of hate and jealousy.

_He _was the reason she wasn't coming by as much. _He _was the reason why the cat hadn't come to him to make the scarecrows go away as much anymore. When she was here, the scarecrows didn't touch him, but now…..that boy….no, not even a boy, that little _pup _had taken the cat from him.

John bended his neck back, eyes shutting and turning his head away from the gaping rouge colored hole hovering by his ear, ignoring the floating being's constant groaning and torturous howls. His petrified, feverish mind focused on that beautiful, cocky, smirking face, those glinting green-gold eyes and that gleaming copper hair. Cat. He needed to see her again. One day, when he broke out of here, he would find her again. He would make the pup as afraid as he was and then kill the pup and would take his cat away. Yes, he'd keep her away from the stupid little pup who had no idea what fear really was.

He heard talking and his eyes snapped open, risking a chance look at the scarecrow getting in his face again, as his heart thundered against the cage of his chest, he looked past the beast at the door and saw two orderlies staring at him and talking. They were making fun of him. John was sure of it. They had nothing better to do so they mocked him. John's teeth clenched together, staring coldly at them as the rest of his body shook.

Yes, one day he would break out of here, he'd kill the pup and take the cat, and he would make everyone else in Gotham-in the world as terrified as he was. Always.

He lay back against the pillow, shuddering at the howling breath by his ear as he mumbled determinedly, "Cat, I'll find you. And we'll rule our kingdom of fear together forever."


	2. Between Fear and Desire

**Chapter 2: Between Fear and desire:**

**Wow, okay, this is becoming way longer than I thought it would. Apparently I have a lot to say about these two…for some weird reason…**

**This chapter takes place three years after the first season. John Crane is eighteen now. Selina is sixteen.**

Fear. Desire. Two intense, powerful emotions. Interestingly enough, they have similar reactions from their host. They were so much better when they were felt at the same time.

Dangling his legs over the ledge of the building, eighteen-year-old John Crane glowered over the city, filled with wretched denizens stealing, brutalizing ants. The screeching of sirens permeated the night air; this was a den filled with people who were terrified. But they didn't know what fear was yet, did they? Not really.

John cocked his head and glanced to the right, heart pounding and blood running cold as he spotted his constant companion, the scarecrow slithering along the corner of the roof. It edged ever closer. John grunted, turning back to the black air, right hand clasping hard around the neck of the whiskey bottle. Something his dad had failed to teach John before his death at the hands of the police; that it was a bad idea to turn to the bottle when you were depressed, sad or afraid. Exhibit A: John Oliver Crane, experiment of his own father by injection with the serum full of adrenaline, too exhausted and driven by fear that drowning in every single drop of russet liquid, intoxicating him was better than the alternative. Better than being paralyzed every moment by the wraith made of straw, haunting his every footstep.

Jaded, empty blue eyes scoping out the different buildings surrounding him, trying to pretend he didn't hear the growling and groaning of his shadow the scarecrow. . He was sure there was a certain irony to the perpetual state of terror he was in right now. That scarecrow wasn't real. He knew that. Being mocked and told millions of times that he should get over something that wasn't real and only in his head while being strapped to that bed for three years was enough to tell him that the scarecrow wasn't real, but the height that he was at was. The danger he could be in should he fall off the roof of this building was quite real. Funny that the thing that clearly wasn't real was what made his blood run cold, wasn't it?

John snorted as his heart rate increased as the scarecrow shot out from the corner right into his face. He gripped the ledge with his free hand so as not to fall. But falling would be preferable, wouldn't it? He stared down at the dark abyss, the red and white flickers of light spilling out from the vehicles below dancing together to make a macabre parody of eyes glowering up at him in a straw woven skull, hating him as much as he hated it. Perhaps if he let go, if he slipped off the side of the building and fell to his death, then he'd no longer see that face. But he couldn't. Not yet. No, he couldn't think about possibly putting himself out of his misery just yet. Not till he accomplished two goals he had repeated to himself nonstop while being strapped to that hospital bed. No, he couldn't stop till he carried out the promises that had gotten him through all that time at the hospital.

To make Gotham a kingdom of fear.

And to find his cat, and make her _his_. To claim her.

As soon as the cat entered his mind, John didn't feel his heart slow, if anything, it sped faster. It raced quick and his blood burned. John tried not to laugh. It was so funny. Funny that during the times that he had thrashed against his hospital bed with terror, those had also been the times when he had squirmed around with the temptress visiting him every now and then, enticing desire in him, making him want her, taking him away from that horrible place…..away from the scarecrow, his father and from the memory of his mother's agonized body swathed in flames, screaming as her flesh was consumed by the pyre.

Funny, how desire inspired his heart to race, his breath to shorten, his blood to quicken and heat. His body to feel out of control.

Fear had these effects too. Interesting.

John laughed, snorting out, wondering how long it would be till one of these; fear or desire killed him-drove him to his death.

Which would kill him faster, the scarecrow or the cat? John picked his head up, staring up ahead at the scarecrow soaring in the air, circling above his head. He wondered if his cat had discovered that he was gone yet. Did she care? And what of the pup? John's teeth clenched. The pup. That little, high-class pup that probably never had to work a day in his life. What did she see in him?

John heaved a breath in as his hand tightened around the bottle. That pup…..if he interfered…..

John growled, taking everything into consideration. Three days ago, not long after he had escaped from the hospital, he found his father's lab. He was going to make his wishes come true. The people of this city were going to know fear. They were going to scream. They were going to be afraid like his father had made him afraid. It always made his lips curl in contempt, his stomach turn and his teeth clench tight whenever he heard people in this city complain, saying that they were _afraid._ Speaking as if they lived in a nightmare, being afraid of being mugged or stabbed.

They didn't know the meaning of fear. None of them did. They had gotten off easy. They were spoiled to go through their daily lives, not feeling the icy claws of terror sinking into their minds every single second of their lives. But that was going to change soon.

He inhaled, focusing his mind on Cat. He needed to think about Cat. His mind traveled to when he had last seen her.

She had been beautiful. Tawny wild hair back in a ponytail, cocking her head at him in amusement. Teasing him relentlessly-but only enough to make him laugh, despite the ever foreboding phantom next to his bed that she could not see. It had gone so well till the sixteen-year-old young woman had mentioned going to see her friend Bruce. John's blood still boiled, thinking about it. The pup. That pup he had seen her talking with. At the hospital. That pup…she had gone to _him_. That was Bruce, wasn't it? No….she wouldn't see that pup soon. Soon, she would only see him….John…she would see someone so much better than that weak little pup.

He knew what his father's research had entailed, and he knew how to reverse it. He knew how to incite fear and keep it there. But now he had to enact the next two processes. Creating the fear syndrome, and a way to spread it. There was a way, he was sure of it. John narrowed his eyes in thought. And when he infected this city with endless fear; when literally every member of this city was screaming, running out into the streets, their faces pale with the shock of being pursued by snakes, spiders, lions, water, fire, roaches, rats or whatever in the world they were afraid of-of horrifying entities that weren't even really there, then John would act and find his cat. Then he would be satisfied as he and the cat watched from their stone laden perch on the roofs of the city's canopy, watching the citizens of Gotham fester in their horror, then he would be happy.

Then he knew he would truly be able to live with this terror his whole life. With his Cat. She and him were better than this lot. The stupid, mindless beasts that thought their lives were so hard and the other half, like Cat's pup, who thought they were above everyone else. He'd make them all scream. He'd make them all afraid and then she'd see that no one else could rule this jungle of din and ignorance except the two of them.

Swinging his legs back around over towards the roof and away from the drop off of the building, John jumped onto the platform of the roof, shivering ever so slightly as the scarecrow swept past him. He thought of Cat and he nearly let out a purr, a thrill of satisfaction traveling to his stomach. Yes, funny how fear and desire were alike.

And soon, he would steal all the desire in this city, take it for himself and leave only the fear for the rats in his city. Time to go to his father's lab.


End file.
